L. _Ful_. This is strange!--bring them up-- [_Exit Servant_. Who can it be, at this odd time of neither Night nor Day? _Enter_ Leticia, Bellmour, _and_ Phillis. _Let_. Madam, your Virtue, Charity and Friendship to me, has made me trespass on you for my Life’s security, and beg you will protect me, and my Husband-- [_Points at_ Bellmour. Sir _Cau_. So, here’s another sad Catastrophe! L. _Ful_. Hah--does _Bellmour_ live? is’t possible? Believe me, Sir, you ever had my Wishes; And shall not fail of my Protection now. _Bel_. I humbly thank your Ladyship. _Gay_. I’m glad thou hast her, _Harry_; but doubt thou durst not own her; nay dar’st not own thy self. _Bel_. Yes, Friend, I have my Pardon-- But hark, I think we are pursu’d already-- But now I fear no force. [_A noise of some body coming in_. L. _Ful_. However, step into my Bed-chamber. [_Exeunt_ Leticia, Gayman _and_ Phillis. _Enter Sir_ Feeble _in an Antick manner_. Sir _Feeb_. Hell shall not hold thee--nor vast Mountains cover thee, but I will find thee out--and lash thy filthy and Adulterous Carcase. [_Coming up in a menacing manner to Sir _Cau. Sir _Cau_. How--lash my filthy Carcase?--I defy thee, Satan-- Sir _Feeb_. ‘Twas thus he said. Sir _Cau_. Let who’s will say it, he lies in’s Throat. Sir _Feeb_. How, the Ghostly--hush--have a care--for ‘twas the Ghost of _Bellmour_--Oh! hide that bleeding Wound, it chills my Soul!-- [_Runs to the Lady_ Fulbank. L. _Ful_. What bleeding Wound?--Heavens, are you frantick, Sir? Sir _Feeb_. No--but for want of rest, I shall e’er Morning. [_Weeps_. --She’s gone--she’s gone--she’s gone-- [_He weeps_. Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, she’s gone, she’s gone indeed. [_Sir_ Cau. _weeps_. Sir _Feeb_. But let her go, so I may never see that dreadful Vision --harkye, Sir--a word in your Ear--have a care of marrying a young Wife. Sir _Cau_. Ay, but I have married one already. [_Weeping_. Sir _Feeb_. Hast thou? Divorce her--flie her, quick--depart--be gone, she’ll cuckold thee--and still she’ll cuckold thee. Sir _Cau_. Ay, Brother, but whose fault was that?--Why, are not you married? Sir _Feeb_. Mum--no words on’t, unless you’ll have the Ghost about your Ears; part with your Wife, I say, or else the Devil will part ye. L. _Ful_. Pray go to Bed, Sir. Sir _Feeb_. Yes, for I shall sleep now, I shall lie alone; [_Weeps_. Ah, Fool, old dull besotted Fool--to think she’d love me--’twas by base means I gain’d her--cozen’d an honest Gentleman of Fame and Life-- L. _Ful_. You did so, Sir, but ‘tis not past Redress--you may make that honest Gentleman amends. Sir _Feeb_. Oh, wou’d I could, so I gave half my Estate-- L. _Ful_. That Penitence atones with him and Heaven.--Come forth, _Leticia_, and your injur’d Ghost. _Enter_ Leticia, Bellmour, _and_ Phillis.